Nothings and Promises
by Hadisia
Summary: A story of unrequited love for one's best friend.


"Do you know how much I want you?"  
  
You stand there, blinking wide, sea-green eyes. Such innocent, beautiful eyes…  
  
"Snake…" you murmur, but I shush you with a finger to your lips.  
  
"I've wanted you since I first saw you. Do you know what you do to me? Robert…"  
  
"Snake, what are – mmph!"  
  
I silence you once more, but this time with my own lips, pressed fervently against yours. You're tense, rigid for confused moments, before you start pushing your hands at my chest, trying to separate us. But I don't give up so easily…  
  
With a rough grip, I pin your arms to the wall behind you. My thumbs slowly circle around the thin wrists, caressing over healed flesh – scars tend to be very sensitive on people.  
  
I deepen the kiss and my fingers travel over your palms, over a deep slash in your right hand. You spasm against me, trying to throw me off.  
  
"St-"  
  
Laughing in my head, I use your opened mouth to my advantage. When kissing, talking is a no-no, and must be punished accordingly.  
  
But it seems that that finally pushed you over the edge, and as I run a finger over the scar on your right palm, you pull your head back – not much room there, wall right behind you – and then bring to back forward, head- butting me.  
  
"Ow!" I hiss, feeling at my forehead – no blood, but it's sore. Then I look over at you.  
  
I feel kind of guilty when I see your bruised lips, a trickle of dark ruby at one corner. You clutch at your right hand, cradling it to your chest.  
  
"Rob? You alright?" I ask, approaching. You flinch, and attempt to back away into the wall, eyes never leaving me. You clutch at your hand some more; I frown, and in one sudden motion, I have it in my grasp again, holding it tightly as I explore the marred palm with clumsy fingers, my brown eyes watching your face.  
  
"Stop that," you rasp out, tugging your hand weakly.  
  
"What happened here, luv?" For your efforts, I run my thumb up the line.  
  
"Don't call me that…" You pull harder. "Snake, let go."  
  
Growling slightly, I yank you to me, wrapping an arm across your back to keep you from running away.  
  
"Is this another one of yours, luv?" I ask, stroking your hair. Soft, flowing red hair…  
  
"Stop this!" Your voice is angrier now. "Snake – let me go!"  
  
With a burst of energy I didn't know you had, you're suddenly out of my arms and across the room. Your pretty eyes of ocean are glaring at me, but it isn't with anger or rage. Despondent, forlorn humiliation stares at me, almost pleadingly, it seems.  
  
"Snake," you says quietly, barely audible. "I'm sorry, but…I don't like you. Not in the romantic sense. You…you're my friend. Just my friend, nothing more, but if you keep pushing it, it'll become something less."  
  
"But…I love you!" I protest, my voice distraught. "I've always loved you…"  
  
You offer me a sad smile that gives no promise.  
  
"I'm sorry," you repeat. "I think of you as only a friend, Snake. Only a friend. And…I'm in love with someone else…" You lift your left hand up, fingers splayed. A golden ring shines dully in the light. "That…that's what I came to tell you…I wanted to invite you to the wedding. Selma and I are renewing our vows."  
  
My heart's remnants must show on my face, because you suddenly draw close and place your thin hands on my shoulders.  
  
"I'm sorry, Snake. But…you'll find someone. You'll find the one you love someday, Snake. And when you do, you'll be so very happy…"  
  
I stare, unseeing, at your beautiful face, and nod dully.  
  
"I'm sorry," you apologize once more. You pause for a moment, then, standing over the very tips of your toes (for I'm one of the few people taller – considerably, at that – than you) and plant a friendly kiss on my forehead before hugging me tightly.  
  
"Thank you for being a good friend, Snake," you whisper before pulling away. Glancing back at me as you leave, I notice for the first time that night that you…you seem…happier…you're happier than before. You're truly in love with this woman and her life, and you want to spend the rest of your days with her.  
  
Just like I wanted to spend the rest of my days with you…  
  
I almost don't go. Hours and days after you had walked out of my apartment and my life, I lie in bed, wondering what I didn't do right, what I could've done better…to make you mine…  
  
Finally, I pull myself out of my stupor and, with a heavy heart, look at the invitation you had left on the table. It's scheduled for next Saturday, at the home of the Simpson family. Formal or informal, my choice, no gifts. Warning: some foods included in this multi-cultural event will include peanuts, chocolate, milk, butterscotch, and imitation butterscotch. Come with or without a companion.  
  
I go alone, of course. I'm late, arriving as an overweight, balding man (somewhat begrudgingly) leads a woman with parted grey hair – something tells me that that was how it was when she was born – down the aisle.  
  
You look so cute, fiddling nervously and blushing as the reverend begins to speak, the blush only deepening as Lovejoy is continued by Rabbi Krustofski.  
  
Then come the vows, and with every word you almost shyly recite for this woman (Selma, was it?), I feel my heart break and rip a little more. God, but how I long to be the one entrusted with your heart and soul, to be the one whose hands cradle your face as we're pronounced two into one under the eyes of God and heaven, to be the one whispering sweet, intimate nothings and promises into your delicate ear before turning to walk down the aisle.  
  
But I'm not.  
  
When everybody swarms toward you and your wife, I move to the back of the room, observing how the people tug and pull at you and Selma, wanting to talk and touch and know you, keep you for themselves, and I know exactly how they feel. It takes all of my willpower not to barge into the middle and drag you home with me – just as hard as it was not giving the men of the cloth numerous reasons why you two should not have been wed when the time came to do so – and so, I set back and watch, waiting for your aquamarine eyes to discover me.  
  
Music starts up soon, and the living room is swiftly cleared of furniture as couples begin to dance in time (and out of time, for some) to the rhythm. I can't help but sigh wistfully as I watch you and that woman dancing happily, holding each other and whispering into the other's ear, all together showing what must be a lovely display of affection. What I wouldn't give to be the one to hold you close to me, causing you to blush as I nibble and murmur at your earlobe…  
  
I shake my head and slowly turn to leave, away from all the music and people and joy. I must love torturing myself; why else would I have come?  
  
Suddenly, there's a light weight placed upon my shoulder, effectively stopping me.  
  
"Snake."  
  
My heart pounds, chest seeming to tighten, but I manage to look back at you with a calm, relaxed face on.  
  
"Thank you for coming," you say, voice soft as ever.  
  
Now it's my time to smile sadly at you, and, not caring who sees us, I cup your face with both of my hands.  
  
"Wouldn't've missed it for the world," I respond, leaning down and giving you a peck on the lips, a last kiss before I go. Heart a little lighter, I turn back around and take leave of the house and your life, tears shining in my eyes and on my cheeks. 


End file.
